


All's Fair.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Contrelamontre!Goldeneye!AU [1]
Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-02
Updated: 2003-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:02:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of talking, Alec uses a tranq. James wakes up in a cell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair.

**Author's Note:**

> For the contrelamontre 60 minute 'world at its knees' challenge. This was mostly an exercise to exorcise various old plot lines and ideas.

James' chains shrieked as he drew them across the stone walls of his cell. He had been in here eight days now, if his internal clock was still working. Eight days wasn't long enough for very much to happen. He had been fed a grand total of three times, each time the meal only an old MRE and the hand painfully familiar. Each time the hand had withdrawn before James could do anything.

Solitary confinement is the sort of thing that drives men mad.

All agents, regardless of age or status of duty, were required to undergo capture training once every five years. When sitting in all those little cells, while biding his time before the exercise would be over, James would always imagine himself one place.

He couldn't even do that anymore.

He would bring himself to Alec's apartment, let himself in. He would hang his coat on the wooden rack off the kitchenette, drape his holster over the armchair, and surprise Alec in the study. Not that Alec would have been surprised had it truly happened. Any agent worth his salt could hear when someone opened his door, let alone snuck up on him. But it was fantasy and such things would have to do.

James would lean down and kiss the back of Alec's neck, drift his lips across until they found a black-clothed shoulder to nibble on. By now Alec would have his head turned as much as it could, so when James tired of shoulder, he could taste lips.

There would be a mad scramble at clothes, but there was a reason they called it going commando. James would stick his hand down Alec's pants and get him off right then and there, all the while kissing him. Alec would buckle against his hand and come completely silently. And then Alec would lick himself off.

Bedroom next, where they would roll around on the bed, tickling and teasing, until Alec was ready and then oh so sweet sex. James would fuck anything that moves, but only Alec could fuck him. Only Alec was good enough. Only Alec was worthy enough.

And Alec now held him hostage. This wasn't a training exercise, or a scare patrol. Alec knew how to break prisoners. Alec, the Alec James had known, knew how to drive a man mad until he was begging for anything, anything, just don't ever stop.

Alec had taken him prisoner at Statue Park, though James hadn't known at the time. Only a tranq in the neck while his back was turned and then waking up here, wherever here was. His watch was gone with the GPS and James knew that Alec was smart enough to not have tried to dismantle it. No, his watch was swimming with the fishes, probably in the Baltic Sea. And Alec had come, not to gloat, not to boast, but to inform James quite civilly that he was a prisoner now and would be expected to act like a prisoner. That meant no escaping. That meant no trying to contact the outside world.

In short, Alec still have enough faith in James to know he'd do what he was told.

Not that James could escape. He'd tugged at the chains and gotten nowhere. He'd tried the hollow wall. The floor was concrete, the door was alloy, and James was naked and couldn't see. Alec was taking no chances about James getting away.

And James wondered what was the point. If Alec wanted information, he could have had it by now. A shot of sodium pentothal in the vein and James wouldn't be able to hold his tongue. A good beating could take care of any vengeful thoughts in Alec's head. Even a good fuck would do something.

He just got solitary, and that was worse than it all.

Because in solitary, all you can do is think. You live, even if mostly starved, and there's nothing to do but wonder how it all went wrong, and why.

And James knew what was going on.

Only Alec fed him. Only Alec saw him. Slowly but surely, Alec was building up a dependence. Once James was far enough gone, Alec would start on other things. Alec didn't want revenge, or anything of that useless nature. Alec wanted James. Alec wanted his own little traitor to do with as he pleased. Alec wanted someone in his bed and there was no one to trust at this stage in his life. The only option was to reform someone in Alec's own image, to make him completely loyal.

James had never studied psychology. He didn't know why people Stockholmed, but he'd seen the effects with his own eyes. Some times things happened and he had no idea why or how, only that they did. Alec had survived, survived and thrived, and now he wanted James for himself. There was very little about that that was open for negotiation.

And James had to be honest with himself. If faced with the choice of going back to M-I6 having failed his mission, having to go back to the Evil Queen of Numbers and explain that espionage wasn't like throwing random numbers, having to go back to headache and frustration that was bureaucracy...or staying with Alec, with the one man he had trusted enough to take him from behind, to wrap his hands around him and start stroking, with the one man who had ever shared his bed, and, James reminded himself painfully, the man who held him captive...

James would choose Alec, treachery and all.

Not that it was his choice. Alec wasn't the sort to give his playthings any options. Alec had James and it didn't matter to him if it was willing or not. Alec would _have_ James and it wouldn't matter to him if it was willing or not. Because, in the end, Alec always got what he wanted. And now, now what he wanted was James.

No torture could break 007. He had the highest pain tolerance in SIS. He was quick with a firearm and only somewhat slower with a knife. He could kill using only his feet. But even 007 was defenseless in the face of defeat. Alec would win. Perhaps he already had. For all James knew, the entirety of England had been Goldeneyed. Maybe chaos and mayhem was ruling the streets of London.

And maybe Santa Claus would come visit and give him coal for being a bad enough boy for letting Janus slip out of his grasp.

The one thing they had stressed in the Academy was no regrets. You did your job, you got out, and you did what you did to survive. They weren't the sort of people that made the papers. The people on the street didn't want to know what they did. They wanted to be safe in their knowledge that no one would hurt them. Meanwhile James was stuck in a cell halfway across the world because one man that the public hadn't wanted to know about had just taken another captive. There would be no ransom note, nor ransom paid. James would never be exchanged. Captured agents were abandoned. There would be too much in the way of bad public relations were it to be known that a British agent had been dispatched to kill the leader of a Russian crime syndicate.

James had to work under the assumption that no one would help him get out. He could languish and die in this cell and M-I6 would assume he either died in his attempt or he had been killed. Good secret agents didn't allow themselves to be captured. But Alec had taken James' Last Friend, not that his chains would allow him to reach it. Hell, he couldn't even wank. The last refuge of wastrels and scoundrels was closed to James Bond and all he had was his memories.

The door opened and James held himself perfectly still, but the rattle of the chains gave away the fact that he still lived. But this time the hand throwing the MRE was followed by Alec Trevelyan himself, framed and haloed by the harsh white florescent light of the hallway. James averted his eyes, knew they wouldn't adjust in time for him to get a good look at his captor, and stopped breathing.

Alec squatted down in front of James and lifted his chin up and around. He made several noncommittal noises and hummed pleasantly as he checked James over for broken bones. His hands stopped by James' filthy groin and when warmth enclosed his cock, James couldn't help but moan.

"That's it, James. Tell me how much you like it."

James wanted to glare, but he couldn't lift his head from staring down at Alec's hand stroking him. Alec had once made him come three times in one night just with his hand. James had no reason to suspect that Alec couldn't bring him off here. It was a lover's touch on his cock, warm and friendly, and James moaned again.

"I've been waiting for this. Nine years, 007. Nine years. There was sex of course, but it wasn't you. You're very addictive, James. There's something very dangerous about that.

"And you're mine, aren't you, 007? Good, because I'm keeping you. I'll let you go every so often so you can perform jobs for me, but absence only makes the heart grow fonder. And we won't have to be secretive about it, not like in London. If my employees have a problem with it, they know I'll kill them."

James swallowed hard at the menace in Alec's voice, menace mixing with passion and possession. And Alec's hand never stopped moving.

"I don't expect the world at its knees. All that matters, dear James, is that _you're_ there. You'll be there for me, won't you?"

James nodded, unable to speak, and came over Alec's hand.

"Good boy."


End file.
